by Alma Boykin
“I don’t think so, Commander, but we’ll need a full CT scan and preferably an MRI to make absolutely certain.”
“Are you serious or just trying to scare me?” Rahoul carefully enunciated.
Tierney held up four fingers. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Four.”
“What is today’s date?”
“July fifteenth, 2014.”
Not quite satisfied, the physician ordered, “Recite the alphabet backward, in German.”
After the officer managed to make it as far as the letter “m,” the balding doctor nodded. “I am serious, sir. However, if you promise to stay near a paramedic until I can get the scans performed, I’m clearing you for duty.”
Rahoul closed his eyes. What did I do to offend you, God? “I promise.”
A clear voice whispered into Rahoul’s mind, «I must really have pissed off the Lord to be stuck with following you around this weekend, sir.» He felt genuine concern behind the disrespectful words and didn’t take offense. The medical officer left and Rachel crouched down beside her friend. “Hello to you too.”
“What happened?”
He heard her snort. “How long have you been having headaches, Rahoul?”
“Since I got back from Afghanistan. They started there,” he admitted.
Cool fingers and a calloused palm touched his forehead and temples, driving away the last hint of pain. “You tried to have a stroke. Collapsed into my arms, if you must know—and don’t worry, I’ve already deleted the security video. I suggest you start getting your blood pressure under control, sir.”
“My blood pressure is just fine,” Rahoul protested, earning another snort. The hand withdrew, and he opened his eyes.
“It would be if you were being shot at during a free-fall combat drop.” She rocked back onto her heels and stood up. He sat up, and when nothing happened he accepted her hand and stood. “How do you feel, emotion-wise?”
“Calm.” He blinked. “Very calm, actually. Did Tierney give me something?”
She perched on the edge of her desk and folded her arms. “No, and I’m not imposing anything on you, yet. I suspect you’ve worked yourself into a cycle of stress, tension headache, more stress, worse headache, and so on, raising your blood pressure each time. Keep it up and you’re going to leave Panpit a nice widow’s pension.” When he didn’t take the bait, she sighed and reached for her work satchel. “Very well. Brief me so we can get the disaster de jour sorted out, please, sir. And you need to call Panpit, if you haven’t yet.”
“Come to my office, and I called her half an hour ago.” Her familiar step tap step followed him down the hallway, and they ignored the waves of surprise and disbelief that rippled along their path. “Did Helmut give you the information we sent Vienna?” Rahoul inquired over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir. Lt. O’Keefe and Sgt. Lee did a wonderful job.” She trotted ahead enough to open the door for her superior officer.
“That they did, Commander. So—” Sergeant Dale waved frantically.
“Sir, Captain Ahkai on the line, and it’s urgent.”
Rahoul and Rachel shared a look. “Put her through, and bring Col. Selassie in as well if she’s in her office.”
Rachel stood behind the general, where they both could see Roswytha Ahkai, the Branch’s technology expert. A pair of disembodied white-pink hands floated several inches in the air below an equally pale, half-shadowed face. Capt. Ahkai mimed tilting the computer monitor and Rahoul tipped his slightly, bringing more of Rachel into camera range. “Good afternoon, Captain Ahkai. What have you found?”
“Good afternoon, sir, and we’ve found rather a lot, including a signal broadcast that just started and seems to be growing stronger,” the woman informed the watchers. “Shall I go in chronological order?”
“Yes, please, Captain,” Rahoul told her, as Rachel began taking notes on her electronic pad.
“Very good, sir.” One ghostly hand reached out of view, probably adjusting another screen as Ahkai typed on her virtual keyboard. “The items found in Manchester match items found in Leuton and Birmingham. As you reported, sir, the transmitters were in the Koran, and the commentaries held receivers. As long as they remained within a few hundred meters of each other they functioned quite well, despite the Carrington interference.”
Ahkai waited until Rachel finished her notes before continuing. “We were unable to find any evidence of the content of the signals because of the Carrington interference and because only the item Gen. Khan found had any battery power left by the time we got them. However, one of my white-hats identified the master control frequency.” She leaned forward, allowing Rahoul to see the triumph glowing in her pink eyes. “And someone began transmitting on it twenty minutes ago. We are triangulating it now, but I can tell you that it originates in the London metro area, probably from within five kilometers of . . . ” A map replaced her video image.
A single point began flashing, and Rachel made a concerned noise. “That’s not too far from you, Captain. And can you send me the signal information? I might be able to identify it, if not track it. I assume you are set up for jamming?”
The disembodied hands and partial face reappeared. “We are well aware of the transmitter’s proximity, Commander, and have taken the necessary precautions. Yes, we can and will jam it if ordered.” Her tone carried a large measure of “of course, stupid.” Then Ahkai added, “Especially in light of other recent signals intercepts.” Rachel acknowledged the correction, still scratching away on her pad.
“What other intercepts, Captain?” Rahoul riffled through the files on his desk, pulling out a green folder with information about the City of London and vehicular access routes. Rachel leaned over his shoulder, pointing to the bug signifying that Col. Selassie listened in, and he nodded.
“Her Majesty Queen Sonja was rushed to the hospital following a massive heart attack, sir. I don’t understand all the numbers, but one of my people says they mean that help arrived very late.” Ahkai’s hands moved as if she were shrugging. “And Crown Prince Richard has also been hospitalized. Apparently he suffered an accident during a polo match yesterday and took a turn for the worse this morning.”
Rahoul glanced back at his advisor, who held up her pad. He read the words and nodded, making a shooing motion and handing her the file. She nodded in turn and hurried out, headed for Col. Selassie’s office. “Thank you, Captain Ahkai, and please pass my thanks to your staff. And you are under lockdown until at least dawn. Do not let anyone out on the streets without heavy, armed security, especially anyone who cannot pass as,” he forced himself to say it, “Muslim. Even then, it should only be an emergency.”
The white hand reached over and tripped a switch, and Rahoul saw a red light begin blinking behind where Ahkai’s shoulder would be. “I’ll pass the word, sir. And we’ll stay home tonight. Most of us are night owls anyway.” The hands moved in another shrug. “Sir, can you extract us if necessary?”
“We will, Roswytha. I give you my word. We never leave anyone behind.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Khan out.” He closed the call. After gathering his thoughts, Rahoul placed another phone call, this time to General Alexander Adams. “Yes, sir. The branch has information suggesting that there will be major urban insurrections tonight, possibly timed with an invasion. Yes, sir. External invasion source, sir.” The general scrawled notes as Alexander spoke to a third party. “I don’t know, sir. After 1700 we lose our extra-atmospheric defense system, although we should be able to at least see someone coming.” More third party discussion, then Adams had another question. “Ten minutes warning at best, sir.”
“What are your plans, Khan?”
Rahoul took a deep breath, because he hated doing what he was about to do. “I currently have two small detachments protecting the ground-end of our satellite system. A third detachment, larger and heavily armed, will go to the source of the insurrection’s communications and organization, becau
se there are at least two extraterrestrial agents involved. The largest force will remain here, on alert, ready to move out in case a full invasion in force begins.”
“Your insurrection may be starting already, judging by the reports I’m hearing through unofficial sources. The Home Office should be monitoring them as well,” the senior general reminded Rahoul.
The headache began again as the South Asian officer closed his eyes. “The Home Office seems to be the problem and alien contact point, sir. I’m sending you everything we’ve found thus far. Vienna has a slightly older version.” He imagined Alexander’s eyes bulging as the senior Army general read the report. Someone knocked on his door and coughed. Rahoul opened his eyes and saw both Desta Selassie and Commander Na Gael leaning in, tapping watches. He signaled, “I’m following.” They nodded and left.
“Are you certain about this? This is a very serious accusation.”
“No sir, I am not completely convinced, and I lack solid data. That is why I’ve not said anything until this point,” Rahoul admitted.
Lt. General Adams considered the matter, or so it sounded to Rahoul. “Very well. I will alert the metropolitan and urban units to be prepared for street fighting if the police or OSS4 call them in. Be careful, Rahoul.”
“I’ll be very careful, sir.”
“Adams out.” Rahoul dropped the receiver and trotted for the door, slapping the wall switch to turn off the lights as he went. First he changed into a combat uniform and checked out his personal weapons, then he cut a path through the troopers streaming into the briefing theater. To his pleased surprise, Rahoul saw Sgt. Lee standing beside Rachel in the shadows at the back of the room, both of them armed and armored and pretending to be invisible. Col. Selassie and Capt. Cluj hovered near the podium, apparently arguing with the computer, while Major Sigurdsson stood next to RSM Smith, both counting noses. Piet Smoot took more notes, which he then passed to Lt. O’Keefe, his shadow. As Rahoul took the low steps to the platform, he heard a voice call, “Commander, you’re supposed to be dead!”
“A lot of creatures thought that,” Rachel replied. “It was their last thought.” Her cold, heavily accented tones left no doubt that something serious was in progress, and for once RSM Smith did not have to call for order.
“There is a strong possibility that the urban disturbances currently beginning in the London metropolitan area, Manchester, Birmingham, Leeds, Carnaervon, and other cities are cover for an invasion,” Rahoul began without preamble. “As you know, our satellite coverage remains poor, particularly our targeting systems. The Russians have permitted us to tap their sensor satellites, giving us five minutes additional warning time, but we still aren’t properly covered, especially at night. Someone from outside,” the regiment’s code for extraterrestrials, “provided the technology used to coordinate last months’ riots. The same is beginning again tonight, possibly as cover for an external threat, or to create a situation that will delay, if not completely nullify, our ability to respond to such a threats.”
Before he could continue, Cluj flashed an urgent hand sign and replaced the briefing slide with an internal British government broadcast. “It is with great regret that I must inform you that her Majesty Queen Sonja has passed away. The Queen is dead. God save the King!”
Silence blanketed the large auditorium until a tart voice groused, “Well damn! Now I have to train a new lab assistant.” Rahoul stared at Rachel, his shock and anger plain to see. The mercenary stared back, and Rahoul actually heard her unrepentant and defiant voice in his mind despite the distance between them. «That changes nothing and the clock is running, Command One. If anything, it will make the riots worse by providing more targets.»
“God save the King,” he managed, getting himself back in hand. “As I was saying, a small detachment will go to London, which is the source of the coordinating signals for the rioters. The rest of us will remain here, on alert, ready to go wherever necessary, should anyone or anything attempt a landing or other form of attack. The Army has been notified. Command Two, the rest of the briefing is yours. Boer One, Manx One, Interceptors, come with me.”
Five minutes later, a half-dozen fast troop carriers thundered down the back route away from headquarters. Overhead, a transport helicopter and an armed escort raced south and east, heading for the heart of the governmental complex in Westminster. Rahoul looked up from Capt. Ahkai’s latest message to see Commander Na Gael glaring at him. He knew why: she did not want him anywhere near combat. Desta Selassie had protested too, but he’d overridden their objections. No one else could speak Arabic, Pashto, Punjabi, as well as English and German; he knew the streets of London very, very well; he had access that Selassie lacked; and he’d stay back from any confrontation. Rahoul glanced over and saw Lee doing his best not to be noticed, in case another fight began in the confined cabin. Rachel also noticed Lee’s attempt at invisibility, and she grinned at his discomfort. Then she grabbed the seat frame as the helicopter dropped several meters.
The aircraft bounced more as they approached London. “Sir, you need to enter your authorization code,” the copilot advised over the intercom. Rahoul had to undo his shoulder straps to twist around and enter the numbers that told London Control to give the aircraft free passage anywhere but the palaces. His stomach started churning before he straightened up. Rachel leaned forward and touched his wrist. «Turn your hand up, like so.» He rotated his palm up, and she pointed to a spot on the underside of his wrist. «Push lightly—should stop the nausea.» It worked, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.
The helicopter deposited Rahoul, the xenologist, her guard, and two other soldiers on a discreet rooftop near the main Home Office building. Lee spotted a dim red light waving back and forth and led the group to their greeting party. “Command One? Rat Three,” came a harsh whisper.
“Silver,” Rahoul hissed.
“Horseshoe. This way.” The group hurried down several flights of stairs. “The police and special riot troopers shut this part of ‘the City’ down two hours ago, but the riots are spreading them thinner and thinner,” a sergeant in urban camouflage and full body armor briefed the group. “The signal greatly increased in strength just after you entered London airspace, and Chips One is no longer certain that we can jam it completely.”
Rahoul nodded. “Understood. Has Chips located the transmitter and power source?”
“Affirmative on the transmitter, negative on the power source.” He hesitated, then looked to the xenologist. “Manx One, Chips has a data burst for you.”
Rachel pulled her micro-computer out of its holster and tapped in a code. “Ready to copy.” She took an adapter out of a pouch and slid it onto the end of the device, then presented both to the sergeant. He pushed a flash-memory drive into the port, waited until the xenologist nodded her permission, and removed it.
“Data transfer complete, data . . . oh joy. I owe Chips four pounds and a case of beer,” Rachel breathed, showing Boer One the screen. Lee’s lips tightened into a colorless line and he shook his head.
“Manx One?” Rahoul inquired as they started down the steps again.
She touched his free hand. «She cracked a tap, one that her white hats found and back trailed. From the computer in the Home Secretary’s own office. Stripped the data and found your traitor. She’s sent the data to Vienna. They are also locking down the wizards’ lair and have pulled in their perimeter watch.»
Rahoul understood why when they stopped by a window. A red glow on two sides marked the riots. Everyone ducked a little as something exploded to their north. “This way, Command One,” Rat Three waved, and they hurried around the corner and through the empty alleys, Boer One keeping one hand under Manx One’s arm. She’d put on her strange coat, and seemed to vanish every time they passed through a shadow.
Another GDF trooper and three SAS men waited beside a door on the Home Office’s main building, a nondescript, squat office tower well away from the main traffic route. Rat Three pointed down. “Chip
s One says the signal is from here.”
The xenologist tapped something on the screen of her “magic box” and frowned. “It may be drawing from the local power grid, augmented by something alien, like we saw in January,” she warned.
As Rahoul moved ahead and conferred quietly with Rat Three and the SAS leader, Rachel and a second SAS man eyed each other. He stuck out his hand and she took it, shifting her grip as she did. The commando matched the shift. “Same song second verse?” he inquired, so quiet that Boer One could barely hear the words.
“Precisely. How is junior, anyway?”
“Getting married next month, despite my best efforts. I’ll send pictures. You need in?” He tipped his head toward the building.
“Affirmative. Chips One sent me a map.” She showed him their target, as well as something about the security system. Then Manx One and Boer One backed up. Lee signaled “stand clear” to the corporal with them, as the SAS man studied the door. He ran a thin piece of something along the edge of the frame. Boer One watched with avid interest as the commando unrolled what looked like twine from a small spool and fitted it into the gap between the door and frame. He then pinched a cap onto the end and stepped back. Manx One pulled the eye-shield down on her helmet and, forewarned, the troopers looked away.
Lee heard a faint hiss and a soft pop. When nothing else happened, Boer One advanced and pushed the door open wide enough to see in, then looked toward Manx One, who in turn looked to Command One. He signaled for them to go in, and two of the SAS men went first, followed by Rat Three, then Boer One, Manx One, the corporal acting as Interceptor Three, Command One, and Interceptor Four.
As they advanced, the lights flickered and died, including the emergency lights. Boer One’s earpiece crackled. “We’re expected.”
“Affirmative,” Manx One confirmed. “There’s a scout timeship in the building. Has a full passive sensor array tuned for living creatures.”